


Cultural Differences

by manic_intent



Series: Superheroes [2]
Category: Ant-Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cultural Differences, M/M, Rimming, That Post-Infinity War 2 AU where Scott attends Thanksgiving at Jimmy's parents' place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 19:06:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15298062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: “Shoes,” Jimmy reminded Scott, as they got through the door.“Oh right. Cassie sweetie. You’ve got to take your shoes off,” Scott said, nudging his sneakers off his feet.Cassie pulled a face at him, unimpressed. “Iknow, Dad. You’re the one who keeps forgetting.” She kicked off her shoes and sprinted into the house, zooming past Jimmy’s father with a rushed hello. There was a laugh from the kitchen and a yell of “Gramma!” from Cassie that made Jimmy grin as he put Cassie’s shoes on the rack.“She’s right,” Jimmy told Scott, as he racked his own shoes.





	Cultural Differences

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beingevil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beingevil/gifts).



> Prompt for beingevil: Scott x Jimmy, Cultural Exchange 
> 
> This story is heavily inspired by the “Home Cooking” episode of David Chang’s Ugly Delicious. It’s on Netflix, and I really recommend watching it. And the pizza ep. And all the eps. 
> 
> Takes place post Infinity War 2, because like hell Marvel isn’t going to just bring everyone back. I can maybe believe that they would murder everyone who disappeared, up until T’Challa disappeared. That guy’s franchise just makes Marvel way too much moolah for them to risk that.

“Shoes,” Jimmy reminded Scott, as they got through the door. 

“Oh right. Cassie sweetie. You’ve got to take your shoes off,” Scott said, nudging his sneakers off his feet.

Cassie pulled a face at him, unimpressed. “I _know_ , Dad. You’re the one who keeps forgetting.” She kicked off her shoes and sprinted into the house, zooming past Jimmy’s father with a rushed hello. There was a laugh from the kitchen and a yell of “Gramma!” from Cassie that made Jimmy grin as he put Cassie’s shoes on the rack. 

“She’s right,” Jimmy told Scott, as he racked his own shoes. 

“She’s usually right,” Scott said. Walking around in his socks still felt weird. Jimmy also enforced the no-shoes rule in his own apartment, and this wasn’t the first time Scott had visited Jimmy’s parents, but. Weird. At least he’d remembered to wear clean socks with no holes. 

Jimmy’s father wandered over and shook Scott’s hand. “Scott. Nice to see you.” Kim Woo was shorter than Jimmy, a bulky man with thinning silver hair and a broad, generous grin. Like Jimmy’s mum, Margaret, Kim had a thick accent. His English was more confident than Margaret’s, who clearly preferred to speak Korean at home and would only try her uneven English with Scott if she had to. 

“Good to see you sir,” Scott said, patting Kim’s hand. “You doing well?” 

“Still healthy, can’t complain,” Kim said, which was the same thing he said every time Scott asked. “Beer? Whiskey?” 

“Beer, thanks. I’ll help.” 

“No, no. You guest. Sit. Son?” Kim asked Jimmy. 

“I’ll sneak some of whatever he’s having,” Jimmy said, and padded off to the kitchen to hug his mum. No hug for the dad, though. For the longest time, Scott had thought that maybe it just meant Jimmy wasn’t close to Kim. ‘Just an Asian Dad thing’, Jimmy had said vaguely, when Scott had mentioned it. Kim didn’t do hugs. 

It definitely wasn’t an indicator of a lack of affection. Against one wall of the small living room was what Scott could only call a Shrine to Jimmy, and he was pretty sure Kim was the curator. There was a glass cabinet full of every award Jimmy had ever won in his lifetime, even a tiny little Spelling Bee ribbon from his school in Year 2. Hell, there was a little football cup. The school stuff was crowded on the lower shelves. On the upper shelves were medals that Scott didn’t recognise. One had a SHIELD logo. 

Pride of place next to the cabinet went to a big framed Harvard law degree, along with smaller framed graduation photos, one of a young Jimmy, one of Jimmy and his parents. On the small table under the degree were other plaques. An FBI long-service award. And a tiny glass tiger figurine that Scott had snuck on as a joke, just to see if anyone would notice. Jimmy had—he’d glowered at Scott and moved it somewhere else, but the next time they’d visited the tiger was back. Scott still wasn’t sure whether the Shrine to Jimmy was cute or creepy or both. It was, Jimmy had told him with embarrassment, ‘kind of an Asian thing’. 

Kim passed Scott a cold beer, nodded at him, and ambled off to the tv and the armchair. A football match was on, turned low. Football always seemed to be on whenever Scott was visiting—whether it was live or a replay he could never tell. Scott made his way over to the kitchen. “Good to see you, ma’am,” Scott said, careful to hover at the edges of the kitchen where he wouldn’t get insta-banished.

Margaret shot him a quick, bright smile. “Scott, Scott. You good?” 

Jimmy’s mum was a tiny woman, a battery of energy and strength. She was swooping around the kitchen, checking on the turkey in the oven, on the gazillion plates and bowls of stuff on the countertop, on the saucepans and pots on the stove, all the while with Cassie scooped on one arm as though Cassie weighed nothing. Jimmy was trailing after her, sampling things and dodging whenever Margaret tried to smack his hand. 

“Really good,” Scott said in Korean. Or that’s what he hoped he said. Jimmy’s face froze and Margaret blinked for a moment before she laughed and corrected his pronunciation. Scott tried a couple more times until Cassie started giggling and Jimmy angled over to grab him firmly by the arm. “Can I help?” Scott asked anyway, despite the warning stare Jimmy shot him. “Please let me help.” 

“No help,” Margaret said firmly. 

“I’ll help!” Cassie crowed. To Scott’s astonishment, she repeated it in Korean. Margaret broke into a huge grin. 

“Where did you learn that, sweetie?” Scott asked.

“Jimmy taught me?” Cassie pointed at Jimmy.

“What? When?” 

“Last week!”

“Only last week?” Scott grinned. “Wow, you’re good.” 

“No, you just suck,” Cassie said, with the brutal honesty of the young, and said something else that made Margaret yelp in surprise and start to giggle. Jimmy coughed, swallowing a laugh as he tugged Scott pointedly away from the kitchen to the couch. 

“Have you been teaching my daughter Korean swear words?” Scott asked, suspicious.

“There are no Korean swear words,” Jimmy said, which was probably a complete bald-faced lie because Jimmy smirked as he said it. They settled down on the couch, and Scott kept his hands to himself. In his parents’ home, Jimmy would allow an arm around his shoulders at best. No PDA. The first time Scott had forgotten and tried to peck Jimmy on the cheek he’d gotten an elbow to the ribs that had actually hurt.

Behind, plopped on a high stool at the kitchen counter, Cassie was enthusiastically making misshapen dumplings with floury hands. “How come Cassie gets to help?” Scott asked.

“Because you suck,” Jimmy told him absently, already glued to the match. The doorbell went just as Scott tried to answer, and Jimmy beat his father to the door with seconds to spare. It was Luis, grinning sheepishly and bearing a bottle of wine.

“Hey guys. Sorry I’m late. Bad traffic yo. Scotty. Agent Jimmy. Um. Agent Jimmy’s dad. Thanks for inviting me.” Luis pressed the bottle into Jimmy’s hands. 

“Not a problem. Hope your parents are okay,” Jimmy said carefully. Luis’ mother had been deported months back while grocery shopping. It was a new world now.

“They’re keeping. Could be worse.” Luis’ smile only slipped for a second as he kicked his shoes off and made a bee-line for the kitchen. “Ooh, smells good in here! Hey Cassie. And my favourite person! Mrs. Woo! Wow, look at all this! Think I just died and went to Heaven. C’mon Cass. Pinch me. I think I’m dreaming.” 

“How come Luis gets to help?” Scott asked as Jimmy resettled on the couch. 

“Because blatant flattery works,” Jimmy said, as Luis started to favourably compare a giggling Margaret to various TV celebrity chefs, scooting up next to Cassie with the dumplings.

The last guests showed up near half-time, extremely apologetic. “Really bad traffic,” Paxton said, as he hugged Scott and shook Jimmy’s hand. “Sorry. Really sorry.” 

“You guys are early,” Jimmy disagreed. He got beers and instantly started talking shop with Paxton. Cops. 

“Hey,” Maggie said softly to Scott. “How’ve you been?”

Years ago this question would’ve wrecked him. Before Hope and the Pyms, before Jimmy. Now Scott merely smiled back. “Been good. Glad you’re back. And half the world.”

“Yeah.” Maggie shuddered. She hugged Scott, handed Paxton her bag, greeted Kim, and hurried over to the kitchen to give Cassie a kiss on the forehead. Rolling up her sleeves, she bent over to listen seriously to Margaret, like a soldier taking marching orders. She nodded at whatever Margaret told her and started to check on the soup. 

“How come Maggie gets to help?” Scott asked, after Jimmy and Paxton stopped discussing the latest gruesome murder and settled down on the couch.

“Because she can cook,” Paxton said, “while I burn water, and the only good thing you can make is pancakes.” 

“Ouch,” Scott said, as he smuggled back against Jimmy. “We could’ve asked the other guys,” Scott told Jimmy conscientiously. 

“I asked Ava. She said no. The others either didn’t respond or were already doing family stuff,” Jimmy said. Which was a relief. Working as part of Atlas had been the experience of Scott’s lifetime, but now that all that business with Thanos was nominally over, most of them had been relieved to catch a break. For now. “What about the Pyms?” Jimmy asked. 

“Doing their own thing.” Hope had made a face and said, “Thanksgiving with your FBI boyfriend’s family?” when Scott had raised it, and, true, technically, the Pyms were still meant to be on the lam.

Thanksgiving at Jimmy’s parents’ place was an elaborate dinner with nominally American dishes—the turkey, the stuffing, and gravy were about it. The rest was Asian, something that had taken Scott a bit of getting used to. He didn’t normally eat much non-takeout Asian food until he met Jimmy, and had to confess he still hadn’t developed a taste for some of it. 

Scott’s favourite was the steaming mountain of crab and spring onion noodles—he would probably eat the whole serving bowl by himself if he could. The pork dumplings were awesome, even—especially—Cassie’s mutant ones. Scott still had mixed feelings about kimchi though, and he still didn’t really get the point of the million little cold dishes of different pickles. 

Scott also wasn’t a big fan of rice. Margaret had a huge rice cooker in her kitchen, an appliance that Scott had actually never seen before, let alone operated, until he’d gotten to know Jimmy. As to the blinding array of other dishes, they were usually a spicy trap. Like Maggie, Scott usually stuck to the turkey, noodles, and dumplings. Paxton and Luis seemed to be indiscriminate free-range grazers. Cassie didn’t like dishes that were too spicy, but she loved the pickles. 

Jimmy, of all people, actually didn’t like turkey. He was picking at the token sliver on his plate when his phone buzzed him. Jimmy snuck a look under the table. It wasn’t his Atlas phone—it was the FBI one. His face didn’t change, but Scott could sense how he tensed up. “I’ve got to take this,” Jimmy said apologetically, and slunk quickly away from the table. Margaret’s mouth compressed briefly into a line, then she smiled and heaped more turkey onto Cassie’s plate. 

Luis and Scott exchanged glances and Scott gave him a slight shake of his head. Not Atlas business. “Ma’am, you’ve got to give me the recipe for this,” Paxton said loudly, heaping some fried pork onto his plate. Margaret laughed, her good mood tentatively restored. 

“Secret family recipe,” Kim told Paxton, who instantly tried wheedling Margaret for it. 

Maggie joined in, playfully trying to guess the ingredients, probably getting most of it wrong, given how Margaret started laughing again. She still went quiet when Jimmy swept back in, looking stressed and harried. He murmured something to her, then to his father. Margaret asked a question. Jimmy shook his head and she averted her eyes. 

“Sorry to do this to everyone, but I’ve got to run,” Jimmy said, forcing a smile. “Eat up. Try not to drink everything in the cabinet, okay? Happy Thanksgiving.” He retreated quickly. 

“Aww,” Cassie said, disappointed. 

Maggie cuddled her briefly. “Jimmy’s really busy, sweetie.”

“But it’s Thanksgiving,” Cassie complained. 

“Yeah, well, that’s the FBI for you,” Paxton said, helping himself to more pork and nearly spilling it as he flinched. Maggie must have kicked him under the table. “I’m sure he’d be back soon,” Paxton lied. 

“‘Scuse me,” Scott said, worried despite himself. Hurrying out, he caught Jimmy right before Jimmy was getting into his car. “Hey. Is it bad?” Scott asked.

“FBI business,” Jimmy said, very firmly. He was checking his phone. “Don’t follow me.” 

“How bad is it?” 

“We can handle it.” 

“Jimmy—” 

“Said we’ll handle it,” Jimmy cut in flatly. When Scott stiffened, Jimmy sighed and got out of his car. He hugged Scott, nudging a kiss over his throat. “Sorry. But I’m serious. Really serious. I’ll handle it. And I don’t want you to come after me. I need you to stay here.” He leaned back, looking Scott soberly in the eyes. “Please.” 

Scott grimaced. “Jimmy, c’mon. I thought we’re well beyond the ‘I don’t like vigilantes’ thing. Hell, I’m in a fucking superhero team now, remember? _Your_ team?”

“This isn’t Atlas business.” 

“That’s not the point.”

“It isn’t my point either,” Jimmy said patiently. He looked uneasy. “Scott, I want you to stay because I don’t have many Thanksgivings with my family. Especially after I got promoted.”

“So tell the FBI to fuck off. You’re the boss. Let some unlucky minion handle it.”

Jimmy shook his head. “Can’t do that. Just stay, all right? Don’t follow me. Keep my parents company on Thanksgiving. In my place. Like… like the son who should be here for them.”

“You’re…” Scott trailed off, swallowing hard. His eyes stung all of a sudden. Wow. Did Jimmy really mean… When Scott found his voice again, there was a strange note to it that he didn’t recognise. “This isn’t one of your cultural things, is it?”

“Sort of. Maybe.” Jimmy gave Scott a long, lingering kiss. “Scott. Please.”

“Okay,” Scott said, defeated. “But only if you promise to call me if you need me.” 

“I promise,” Jimmy said, even though he’d probably only call Scott if he was at death’s door. Scott held his tongue as Jimmy kissed Scott again and got into the car. 

Back at the dinner table, Margaret shot Scott a guarded glance as he sat down. “Jimmy has work stuff,” Scott said, into the quiet.

“Everything okay?” Paxton asked seriously. If Scott said ‘no’, he knew Paxton would offer to be the designated driver immediately. Tail Jimmy to his destination. Scott smiled, despite himself. Somehow family had happened to him by accident. Scott was a luckier man than he had any right to be.

“Yeah, things are fine,” Scott said, for everyone else’s benefit, and pulled the large crab noodle bowl beside his plate, making a show of pretending to eat directly from it. As Margaret squawked out a shocked scolding and Cassie laughed, the awkwardness eased. 

Luis passed him a phone under the table. There was a message typed on the screen. _Super hero tiem_?? 

_No_ , Scott typed, after some hesitation, and passed the phone back. He’d never had to stand in as someone else’s son before, and he wasn’t going to take that kinda trust lightly. Cultural or not.

#

Margaret had looked scandalised when Scott said he would take the couch. She had pointedly nudged him towards Jimmy’s room, instead, which was gratifying and scary all at once. Everyone else had gone home. Cassie had been carried off by Paxton and Maggie in a food coma. Scott brushed his teeth, showered, and walked slowly around Jimmy’s room, touching everything. He’d only been in here a couple of times before. Once when a hilariously embarrassed Jimmy had been pretty much forced to show it to him, with Margaret and Kim making comments over his shoulder. Once when Scott had broken in with Cassie just to piss Jimmy off. And now.

The room was tiny. If Scott lay on the bed, his feet would press against the end of the mattress. There was a desk heaped with old books, well-worn. Some of it science fiction, some of it philosophy. There was a Bible, of course, and theological books. Spare clothes in the wardrobe. 

Around there the similarity to the Jimmy that Scott knew ended. The walls were liberally papered over with fading superhero posters. Particularly of Superman. There were boxes of ancient comics under the bed, each lovingly wrapped. In a box in the wardrobe were yellowed sketchbooks, full of superhero doodles featuring a familiar skinny Asian kid with dark hair. 

A long time ago Jimmy had been pretty different. Or maybe that wasn’t true. A long time ago Jimmy had wanted to be a superhero. Then he’d chosen another path, a similar one that required no less courage from a good and honourable man. While Scott had lucked into a high tech suit and fallen face-first into the superhero life out of accident. 

Scott lay on the bed for a while, but he couldn’t sleep. Sitting up, he towed the first box of comics out from under the bed and started to read. 

He woke up to someone shaking him on the shoulder. Shooting awake, Scott yelped as comic books went fluttering to the floor. “Shit!” 

“You better not have drooled on any mint editions,” Jimmy said, kneeling to gather them up, then laughed at the horror on Scott’s face. “Kidding. I don’t have any of those.” They gathered up the comics and put them back into their plastic sleeves, packing them back into the box. 

“You okay?” Scott asked sleepily. He glanced at the bedside clock. Four in the a.m.? Fuck.

“Yeah. Resolved it more quickly than I thought.” Jimmy climbed into Scott’s lap to nuzzle his throat. He didn’t look injured. Scott patted him down cautiously as Jimmy shrugged off his jacket. Jimmy poked him in the ribs. “I’m fine.” 

“Think your mum packed leftovers for you in the ‘fridge.”

“Yeah, she does that.” Visiting Jimmy’s parents always meant being loaded up with tupperwares full of leftovers to take back. Scott could never figure out where all the food came from. Margaret’s ‘fridge was a mysterious dimension-folding space that seemed forever full of stuff, packed to the brim with tupperwares and unidentifiable produce. 

Still yawning, Scott pulled Jimmy down onto the narrow bed. There wasn’t really enough space for the both of them, even with Scott’s back flush to the wall. And there definitely the hell wasn’t enough space for the hand slipping down the front of his pants. “ _Jimmy_ ,” Scott hissed, grabbing his arm. “What happened to No PDA In This House?” 

Jimmy gave him a mildly surprised look. “That rule only applies in front of my parents.” 

“Yeah, well, the walls aren’t that thick.” Scott would never be able to look Margaret in the eye again. “We’re heading back tomorrow anyway? We could go to your place right after?” His voice was rising an octave. Jimmy started to laugh, his mouth buried against Scott’s throat. He didn’t push.

“Thought you might appreciate a ‘thank you’ for having to handle my family and Thanksgiving without me.” 

“Hey, _I_ got to eat myself sick on crab noodles and dumplings. While washing it all down with your dad’s best whiskey. _You_ were stuck doing whatever in FBI land.” 

“Yeah? My parents don’t scare you anymore?” 

“They only used to scare me because I really wanted them to like me,” Scott admitted. “Then I realized that having Cassie around gave me a free pass.” Even _Paxton_ got a free pass, and he was very Cassie-adjacent, in Scott’s opinion. Great as Paxton was. 

“They would’ve liked you even without Cassie.” 

“Yeah, right. Would you have told them about the ex-con thing otherwise? Hell, you took months to tell them even so. I mean. I get why you try to micromanage any kinda contact with your parents. Just. We’re in our _forties_.” 

Jimmy exhaled. “The display downstairs, the way they’ve kept this room just as it is from the day I moved out. Weirds you out, doesn’t it?” 

Scott shifted up on his elbows to settle over Jimmy, keeping his weight off. “Should it?” he asked lightly. 

“It is pretty weird,” Jimmy said, then, “I don’t think some Asian parents ever deal very well with empty nest syndrome. My parents deal with it by pretending it never happened. And look. With a family like mine. My dad liked to say, when you marry a Chinese person, you kinda marry their entire family too.” Jimmy paused. “Sounds less illegal in Cantonese.” 

“I don’t actually know what I’m trying to say. It’s four a.m. and I shouldn’t be expected to be coherent.” Scott nuzzled Jimmy’s cheek, still yawning. Jimmy’s words caught up belatedly. “Marry, huh?” He grinned.

Jimmy squirmed, looking away. “You know what I mean.” 

“I don’t think you guys are weird,” Scott said firmly. “Just different. Weird is… Weird is me and my dipshit tendency to run around in experimental technology. Weird is Luis and his terrible love of anything piña colada-flavoured. And you know what? I’m glad that you never try to apologise for your family or your ‘cultural things’ or whatever. Because you shouldn’t have to and don’t need to.”

Jimmy was silent for a long time, then he smiled and kissed Scott on the mouth, a slow lingering kiss. “We think the fact that you’ve never used a rice cooker before is weird,” he said, and snickered as Scott pretended to scowl. 

“I’m trying to engage in a meaningful cultural exchange here and you punch my efforts in the face,” Scott said mournfully. 

Jimmy pointedly rolled his hips and smirked as it was Scott’s turn to squirm. “I appreciate the effort. And I agree that we should conclude it at my place.”

#

Despite Jimmy’s words, he was clearly exhausted. He fell asleep on the couch once they got to his place, and grumbled as Scott shook him awake and chivvied him to the bedroom. Once Jimmy lay down he was out like a light, leaving Scott to strip off Jimmy’s jacket and belt and tug the covers over him. Scott lego’d their new tupperware leftovers collection into Jimmy’s long-suffering fridge, and went over to shower and get thoroughly cleaned up.

Cassie called him on Facetime as he was pottering around the apartment. “Is Jimmy OK?” she asked worriedly. 

Scott grinned at her. “‘Course.” It was hard to remember now that Cassie had taken a long time to warm up to Jimmy—the turning point for her had been all that business with Thanos. For some reason, Cassie was convinced that Jimmy was the reason why everyone was back, even if that wasn’t precisely true. Getting free grandparents out of the mix probably helped. 

“Okay,” Cassie said doubtfully. “He’s home?” 

“Yeah. Check this out.” Scott padded over to the bedroom, where Jimmy was snoring gently on the pillows, and angled the phone over as he sat on the bed against Jimmy’s back. “Look at that dorky face. Mister Supercop.” 

Cassie giggled. “Dorky!” 

“How’s Maggie and Paxton?”

“Preparing leftovers? We have lots from Gramma. Daddy, I was thinking. From last night. Paxton says you work for Jimmy as a superhero? Along with Captain Marvel?” Cassie’s voice took on a hushed and reverent tone. Cassie had been overawed by Captain Marvel on their first and only brief introduction during a Bring-Your-Kid-To-Work-Day. Jimmy hadn’t been amused. “Project Atlas is meant to be top secret, Scott!” That had been funny. Worth the scolding. 

“I don’t think I work _for_ Jimmy, more like _with_ Jimmy,” Scott said. 

“I want to do that too,” Cassie decided. “Grow up and do that. Join Atlas. Help people. Save the world and stuff.”

“Aww honey,” Scott said, touched. “You know I used to be scared that I’d be a bad father. I mean, I was a bad father in many ways. But I’m glad I could turn out to be some kinda role model to you.” 

Cassie gave him a puzzled expression. “Not you, Dad. I wanna be like Captain Marvel.” 

Pressed against Scott, Jimmy started to shake with silent laughter. Thankfully, at that point Maggie called for Cassie, and she waved and hung up. Scott tossed his phone aside with a growl and tickled Jimmy, who yelped and shoved weakly against Scott and finally ended up wrestling Scott to the bed, pinning him to the covers. 

“Kids can be brutal,” Jimmy said, as he kissed Scott on the cheek, “but only because they’re often right.” 

“Shut up,” Scott said, a little depressed. Even though, fine, Captain Marvel was probably a better role model for Cassie. Jimmy shook against Scott again, and Scott growled, wriggling free, rucking his fingers up under Jimmy’s shirt to tickle his ribs. They nearly rolled off the bed, but at the last moment Jimmy pulled yet another judo move and pinned Scott again. 

Scott decided to cheat. He rubbed his ass against Jimmy and grinned slyly up over his shoulder. “I got clean while someone was sleeping.” 

This didn’t have the desired effect—Jimmy yawned, rubbing his eyes. “I’ve had four hours of sleep,” he said grumpily. 

“That’s plenty,” Scott said, though he conceded the point. “Okay, let up. You want to wake up for dinner?” The only answer Scott got was a loosening grip and another snore. This time Scott left Jimmy where he was lying and went into the living room to turn on Netflix.

#

Scott woke up to Jimmy messing around in the kitchen, reheating leftovers. “Welcome back,” Jimmy said, fiddling with the microwave. He straightened up as Scott ambled over to plaster himself against Jimmy’s back, brushing kisses over his throat. “We’re meant to eat dinner, Scott.”

“I’d much rather eat you out,” Scott said, in what he hoped was a sexy voice, but Jimmy only snorted and kept on reheating the food. Jimmy was always extremely singleminded when it came to food. Scott blamed Margaret. He sulked through dinner and after, as they stacked dishes into the dishwasher, Jimmy shot him an amused smirk. 

“Really,” Jimmy said.

“Really what?” 

“You’d rather we didn’t eat? Or let the food get cold?”

“I’m beginning to think,” Scott said, after a pause, “that we have some fundamental differences about the concept of romance.” 

Jimmy snickered. He turned Scott around against the sink and kissed him as he pushed the dishwasher closed with his knee. Scott grumbled, still a little annoyed, though he let Jimmy slip a spit-slicked hand down his pants to stroke him. “Said you were clean?” Jimmy asked, baring his teeth into a grin. 

“Y-yeah.” Scott frowned at him. “Thought you didn’t like doing anything in your kitchen.” 

“Mm.” Jimmy sank down on his knees on the tiles. He nuzzled Scott’s belly over his shirt, then pushed Scott’s pants and underwear down to lick the tip of his cock, curling his tongue lazily around the tip. Scott hissed, scrabbling at Jimmy’s shoulders, tucking his fingers into his soft hair. 

“Fuck, Jimmy,” Scott breathed, then blinked as Jimmy tugged his hand over and curled it around the base of Scott’s dick, squeezing pointedly until Scott got the hint and replaced Jimmy's hand with his own. 

“Don’t make a mess,” Jimmy told him, smirking. 

“What?” Scott said, bewildered, then he sucked in a thin breath as Jimmy turned him around and nudged his legs open, spreading his cheeks. “Jimmy… seriously? You’re gonna… I don’t even… I’ve never—” Scott let out a breathless thin squeak as Jimmy licked a wet stripe over his hole. “Oh _fuck!_ ” 

“Like that?” Jimmy nipped his rump. Scott clenched his free hand over the kitchen counter and bent his forehead to his wrist with a low strangled sound. “Guessing that’s a ‘yes’.” The second lick was slower, lingering over the furled opening, and Scott was hyperaware now, whimpering breathlessly. Jimmy’s tongue curled against his balls and back up, over sensitive skin, twisting back over his hole. Taking his time until Scott was muffling sobs and yelps over his fist, his teeth grinding against his thumb. Scott was aching to come. As he loosened his grip on his cock and thrust into his fingers Jimmy bit him hard on his thigh. “Don’t make a mess here.”

“Let’s move then,” Scott said, plaintive. “Couch’s right there.” 

“Maybe later,” Jimmy said, because he was an evil bastard in many ways. Scott said so as Jimmy got back to eating him out, messy and loud and sloppy and Scott was pushing his ass back against Jimmy’s tongue, begging for it. He wanted more. The need to come burned restlessly, made him sweat into his shirt, his thighs trembling against the kitchen counter. 

Jimmy drew away briefly. Bent against the countertop, Scott tried to focus on catching his breath. He yelped as slicked fingers pressed into his hole, rougher than usual, finding his prostate and nudging against it in uneven thrusts as Scott wailed. Jimmy flicked his tongue against Scott’s stretched hole and laughed. Bastard. Fucking bastard. Jimmy clenched his slick free hand over the rest of Scott’s cock, fondling him and playing with the foreskin. He squeezed his hand into a fist and let Scott fuck into the pressure.

“Have to come,” Scott pleaded, trembling. “Jimmy, please. _Please_ … fuck!” Jimmy had bitten down over the small of Scott’s back and somehow that little spike of pain punched Scott over the edge. He yelled as he spilled over Jimmy’s hand, over the side of the counter, the floor.

Jimmy made an annoyed noise. “Scott.” 

“Fuck,” Scott said, breathing hard and slumped over the counter. “Fuck you, wow. Hey, no. Finish what you started.” He grabbed at Jimmy’s wrists as Jimmy tried to pull his hands away. “Gonna need to ride you right here and it’s your fucking fault. Is that… you used the olive oil?” 

“Here? My knees are killing me,” Jimmy said. The old man part of him tended to surface at the worst of times. 

“Suck it up.” Scott rolled his hips, grinding down to Jimmy’s knuckles and grinning as Jimmy let out a harsh gasp. Scott did end up riding Jimmy on the floor of the kitchen with Jimmy’s mouth buried against his neck, and they were gonna regret this later, they were both too old for this. It was worth watching Jimmy come apart anyway, worth watching his self-control shatter as he bruised Scott’s hips in his hands and shoved his hips roughly up against him. 

“You’re cleaning this up,” Jimmy said, slumped against the ‘fridge. 

“Happy Thanksgiving to you too, sweetheart,” Scott said, grinning, still seated on Jimmy’s lap. 

Jimmy frowned at him. “Thanksgiving was yesterday.” 

“I meant that figuratively. Culturally, even.”

“That makes no sense.”

“You’re _such_ a hardass,” Scott complained, though he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> According to Jimmy’s wiki, his dad is called Kim Woo and his mum is Margaret. Which, IMO, on a first glance shows a typically Marvel misunderstanding of Asian names and surnames in general (Jimmy is meant to be Chinese but his father pretty much has a common Korean surname as a first name) but then again, I’ve seen weird names on kids, esp my HK friends. 
> 
> The only reason my parents didn’t frame my law degree in their house was because I hid it from them lol, though if I’d graduated from an Ivy League school or Oxbridge they definitely would’ve insisted on nailing it to the front door or something. My ex’s HK parents framed his law degree in their house. It’s a thing for some of us… ^^;;;


End file.
